


et ipse sequitur

by Cakeenkets



Series: The Divines Have Forsaken Us [2]
Category: Aphmau Minecraft Diaries, aphmau - Fandom
Genre: Character Study, Decapitation, Execution, M/M, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 18:38:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20625695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cakeenkets/pseuds/Cakeenkets
Summary: Zane Ro'Meave won but lost the war. He successfully kills Aphmau but her death eventually led to his demise and the eventual end to his reign of revenge and terror.With the prestigious Lord's death, the high priest's fate now remains at the hands of Lady Katelyn. And as he faces his former jury member, he faces his execution.





	et ipse sequitur

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t speak latin so I can only hope that the title says what i wanted it to say oop  
anyways! part two as promised of "me relinquit" ! enjoy!
> 
> also!! you don’t have to read the first part to read this (i hope..)

A heartbeat. Pulsing. There once were two. But now there was only one. 

Zane stared into the nothingness that was his cell. The walls were lined and reinforced with bedrock. Indestructible. No way in and no way out. There was no ventilation save for the tiny space beneath the single metal door in his holding cell, and it made breathing generally more difficult to do. Not a single drop of sunlight was to be found. No windows. No anything. 

A prison cell fit for a monster such as him. 

He was given only the luxury of what little he could take from the view of the outside world—from the view of a light he had shunned his entire resentful life—whenever a guard, heavily clad in armor and always accompanied by a powerful witch came by to deliver his food to him once a day. They would open the heavy metal door and small light would trickle inside the shadows that swallowed all around him. And after he was fed with as little as they can serve, the door was shut again and he returned to the clutches of the darkness. 

He deserved this though. He knew everybody else thought he deserved this, and they were right. He did deserve it. Well, everyone but one would agree he deserved it, but that one person had no say in the traitorous high priest's punishment despite the link between their blood. For now, Lady Katelyn was his jury. 

Katelyn was as cruel as she was fierce. Zane could even say that she was just as cruel as him if she wasn't bound and shackled by the chains of her own humane morality. 

Yet again another thing Zane was not able to get a hold of was _humanity_, similar to the relic he had strived to obtain from the divine goddess, Irene as he attempted and successfully pushed a poisoned blade right into the center of her reincarnation’s heart. The Divine Warrior’s relic had materialized in front of his wide eyes. His eyes were overflowing with greed and awe. He had grinned then. _Finally_.

Yet before he could begin to even reach out for the relic, the relic had emitted a blinding white light and everyone in that silent throne room in O’Khasis had brought up their arms to shield their eyes from the brightness. 

Though, once the light had dissipated, so did the relic. And all that was left in the center of the room was the lifeless body of a former Lord. 

Zane had screamed then, frustration bubbling inside him like molten lava. It was fire. It was familiar. Everything melted, or maybe everything shattered. Glass shards and broken weapons littered the blood-stained floor as he threw a fit. A slew of curses coming out of his mouth in an inhumane voice. He was far beyond human at this point. 

A warmth had enveloped him. He couldn’t tell where the source of it came from as his vision was still white with anger, but the warmth had slowed down his movements. He tried pulling himself out of the intruding touch but found the attempt useless. So instead, he buried himself further into their chest, hearing their heartbeat thump in the same erratic pattern as his did. 

This was another thing he couldn’t obtain, something only _he_ could. And although, Zane hated to be reminded of things he could never have, he didn’t mind it if it was _him_ who possessed it and flaunted it at him. Especially not when the high priest found it so endearing that he often found himself captivated and entranced on how the demon so desperately tried to associate himself with it. 

His humanity. 

Of all the riches, power, women and men alike Zane could obtain, humanity was one of which he could never get a grasp on. 

It did not matter to him either way. To be humane was a weakness, and a weakness was something Zane Ro’meave was not capable of possessing. His father had told him of it, constantly reminded him and made sure of that fact during the countless studies and lectures the raven-haired had to endure whilst growing up. 

However, the lord of O’Khasis was as much of a hypocrite as Zane was. All that talk about power and cruelty was dissolved into nothing but ashes in the face of his first born son. It was a pity. His father was a powerful man, yet the man’s weakness was of something so simple, and so humane. A weakness for his son. Zane was sickened by it. 

Though, it might have been because Zane himself hadn’t felt that sort of attention from his father. Among all of his brothers, he had spent the most time with his father, that much was true, but all those hours were strictly spent on perfecting his skill in speaking, studying politics and history alike, as well as training to be the influential and flawless son of Garte Ro’Meave whom his father and the rest of the nobles from other city-states highly expected him to be. 

Garte was a man of high ambitions and pride. He saved no compassion for other people, except for his first born. Despite the numerous times Garroth had slipped up, rebelled against his father, Gods, even _faked his own death_ in order escape a political agreement that entailed peace among O’Khasis and Scaleswind, had he followed simple orders and attended to the duties given to him by birth right, Garroth had always been excused or given a second chance unlike Zane. Zane, whose every little mistake, every miscalculation was mercilessly scrutinized and was therefore punished for. 

Zane always held a bitter resentment towards his brother. He deserved that throne more than Garroth did, yet no matter the circumstance or whatever stunt Garroth pulled up next, the throne was still reserved for him, and him alone. Zane _hated_ him for it. Garroth was as flawed as they come. He was human, so much so that he even went out and fell in love! And with the reincarnation of Lady Irene of all people! Oh, what fun the Gods were probably having as of the moment. 

Zane hated it all. He hated that they were able to acquire something that was so far out of his reach, just a few inches away from his fingertips. He hated that they had something that he did not. 

He hated that he would never seat the throne of O’Khasis. He hated that his father favored his older brother despite his efforts. He hated that the person he idolized so much turned out to be so weak because of his brother. He hated that they were all so weak, all so human. 

He hated that he was jealous. 

But to what extent does his jealousy end?

Was he jealous of their weaknesses as well? 

No.

_Never._

Zane hadn't left that hallway deep within the catacombs of that abandoned church. The once white marble walls were now decaying and crumbling as it aged over the course of more than a thousand years. Zane was almost sure that this church hasn’t been visited ever since Lady Irene had disappeared from the face of this dimension. He was most likely the first person in all those years to step foot onto the once holy grounds. A corrupted high priest was just the final push the dying church needed for it to further lower its casket down into its impending grave to unholiness. 

Heavy footsteps surrounded Zane as he remained kneeling, body pressed against another even as the clinking of weapons and voices heavy with tension began circling him at a steadfast rate. Zane had all the opportunity to leave. He still had a few dying tricks on his sleeve, he always had dirty tricks hidden on his sleeve that will enable him his escape but he hadn't used them. He couldn't. 

He couldn't leave _him_. 

A face streaked with blood and tears. Hair dirty from dust, messy and the tips of the once pure white locks stained with blood. He was warm. He _had been_ warm. He was Zane's warmth but as skin touched skin, fingers tightly interlocked together, all Zane had felt from him was cold. 

Unmoving. Steady. 

_Cold_. 

Sharp intakes of breaths. Careful yet firm hands gripped on the high priest’s arms and in a flash, Zane felt himself being pulled away, dragged away. 

Panic instantly shot through his veins like primordial fire. He screamed and thrashed but was making no actual effort in maiming those who had their hands on him nor escape the dreadful catacombs. 

He wanted to escape. He wanted to _return_. He wanted to return by _his side._

He screamed and screamed until his throat burned and the sounds of his screams didn’t sound any more human. He screamed as he watched the ashen face of Travis Valkrum slowly shrink from his vision as his body ached and throbbed horribly from the crushing grip on his muscles as he was being forced to stay in place.

A solider with icy blue hair had kneeled in front of the unmoving figure in front of him. She looked at the unmoving man with pity, _guilt perhaps?_ She removed one of her bulky gauntlets and carefully placed her hand on one side of the demon's neck.

Zane's eyes widened and he had thrashed harder at the sight of the contact, cursing profanities and screaming for her to go away, for her to get her hands _off him_. 

A pained expression enveloped the soldier’s features as she opened her mouth. Zane couldn’t hear her though. All he could hear was the screaming in his ears. 

She tore her gaze from the demon and redirected her gaze to the high priest, looking at him scornfully, like one would look at a stranger’s child for misbehaving. She motioned a hand at his direction and— 

_Thud._

Black spots instantly clouded his vision and everything blurred into nothingness. 

And he was here. 

Staring into more of that nothingness, more of that complete darkness. Just where he belonged. 

He still had his old clothes, now crusted with blood to remind him of his final moments of freedom. His armor had been removed from him when he was taken. He had watched blankly as the guards tentatively stripped him off his armor. Garroth had been there too, tasked with guarding him and ordered to kill if ever Zane were to act out of line. Similar light blue eyes had fixated on the high priest's eyes in a way such that they looked like they wanted to say something, but in the end, they didn't and Zane was escorted back into his cell. 

Garroth was most likely stationed right outside of Zane's cell right now, mourning the loss of his lord, his friend, and his brother for Zane’s sentence was beheading.

Beheading, to Zane, was arguably not the worst sentence they could lay upon him. Death would be far too easy, far too swift and painless compared to the other methods of torture he deserved much more than beheading, but death proved to be the wisest course of action the newly formed jury could take at this point if they wanted to take into account the safety of the people first and foremost. 

It would be far too risky keeping him alive any longer than a second, and Zane had done enough. He had done enough, and the people were fearful, angry, grieving, and most of all, tired. 

Death would be the wisest choice. Zane would agree with it himself even when a good number of the late Lady Aphmau’s close companions, and the countless victims of his reign thought otherwise. Until now, they were still wary of the possibility that he may come back and that bringing him death would only result in freeing him once more and giving him another chance to bestow misery upon the entire region. 

Though, Zane doubted he would come back. He didn't think it would even be possible to come back to this realm a second time. 

This time, he was sure of it. His death would be certain. 

Death was another thought he did not linger on much but due to the apparent free time he now possessed, he was bound to come across the topic sooner or later. He didn’t have much topics to entertain himself with recently.

He didn’t have much thoughts about death either, well his death at least, he’s fantasized about the death of others for as long and as much as he could remember, but the idea of his own death had never crossed his mind. Maybe it had been because he didn’t think he would ever die this soon. He didn’t think he would ever lose. Lose so _so_ much. 

It was all useless now though, musing about his own death and the idea of what may happen to him in the afterlife. He doubted he would even meet Travis in the afterlife. Whatever life Irene or any of the other Gods have planned for their people after death was obviously off limits for the two of them, not after what they've done.

He didn’t think Travis would even be permitted to enter in such holy realms, purely demon or not. Zane wondered where he was now. 

He knew that the demon warlock was immortal, his cursed soul bound to the island of Enki for perpetuity. But Travis was not completely demon. Though his soul was still cursed, he was still human. Zane remembered that, for how strong the white-haired would grasp onto the last thinning threads of his humanity despite joining Zane in his reign of misery. 

Whether Travis was cursed with the same fate of the demon warlock or the Gods have pitied him and given him a chance to live a new life in another realm, Zane would never know.

The metal door creaked, pulling Zane out of his thoughts, and dim light slowly filtered into the dark cell. Zane watched as a figure emerged from the door, a man clad in heavy armor, hands tightly clutched onto the handle of the weapon sheathed beside his waist. The man seemed to have ditched the helmet he usually wore just for the occasion. How lovely. 

His bright blond hair seemed duller than usual, or maybe it was a trick in the lighting. There wasn’t much light in Zane’s cell after all. The stray strands of the man’s blonde hair fell on his face and his face bore a troubled expression as he stared into Zane. Two more guards, equally as armed stepped in from the guard’s sides and they immediately pointed their swords at the high priest's direction. 

Zane rolled his eyes. No use for formality at this point. He stood up and the guards trained their weapons closer to him. Zane didn’t bother containing his scoff. Normally, he would have been flattered at the treatment but for now, he was more than tired of it. 

Another set of guards came in and they motioned him, albeit roughly for him to raise his arms. After hissing at the guards first, he complied and lifted his arms just for the guards to clamp bulky metal cuffs onto his wrists. 

The guards then hooked a chain onto his cuffs and began tugging at him to move. He stumbled ungracefully as the guards led him, and at that moment, he took his first step out of his cell.

There were probably at least a dozen more guards accompanying him as he sauntered—much to the guards’ annoyance—down the hall. Zane was impressed to say the least. At least they’ve managed to improve their defenses since the last time, Zane had noted. Shame it had to take an influential Lord’s death for them to start taking their jobs seriously.

Zane laughed and he could feel the air begin to thicken with tension. 

As they were walking, boots hitting on O’Khasis marble, Zane was already aware of where they were taking him. It didn’t take a fool to figure it out. Not to mention that he’d basically memorized the entire building’s structure and he knew that the turns, the hallways, and the staircases the guards led him pointed to one of Zane’s favorite places. 

The gallows.

The guards opened the huge mahogany doors and cold wind instantly whipped onto Zane’s face, making the high priest’s face scrunch up. Though, he immediately wiped what annoyance that was plastered in his face and replaced it with a careful blank expression as he took in his surroundings. Well, tried to at least before the guards impatiently led him to the top of the stairs.

Zane could feel all eyes watch him as he took his each and every step. It was nostalgic somewhat in a sick sense, reminding him of the many times he would stand before a crowd, preaching his sermons and all eyes were planted on him with awe, hope, and admiration. 

Now, there was none of that. None of even what he had expected to see instead. Zane faltered in his steps as he walked, but a guard shoved at him to carry on.

All the faces in the crowd gathered around the platform were unusually solemn and somber. He had expected shouting, cursing, anything but the grave silence that enveloped the entire City-State. 

O’Khasis was silent. 

The people were quiet, yet their eyes were set ablaze with fury and also despair. Hopelessness.

Zane didn’t realize he had stopped in his tracks until he was shoved one more time. This time, he had to bite his tongue to resist the instinct to curse. 

Once he made it to the top, Zane was roughly pushed by his shoulder, prompting him to take a step forward. Zane didn’t need to ask why for the answer lay in front of him, in front of possibly thousands of people’s eyes. Zane kneeled down, lacking the usual grace in his movements due to the heavy weight on his arms and his near to non-existent stamina. He laid his neck onto the chopping back and as soon as he did, the guards snapped the copper-lined lunette in place, almost choking the high priest right there and then. If the guillotine didn’t kill him, choking certainly would.

Katelyn came into his peripheral view shortly after and Zane didn’t need a clear shot of her face to know that she was looking at him with utmost disgust. She picked up the axe, grip tight and the blade of it sharp and devoid of any traces of scratches or grime. How befitting for a high priest to be executed with such a weapon that was so clean and so pure. 

“Any final words?”, she asked slowly, voice booming for the anticipating crowd to hear whilst punctuating each vowel with clear disdain. 

Zane cracked a final grin directed to her, directed to the crowd that gathered before him. A practiced smile, charming and trustworthy. A vulnerable smile of resignation, genuine and pure with raw emotions, of grief and of loss, not for his own fate but of the fate of someone else’s. 

He opened his mouth and the gathering of both familiar and unfamiliar faces all collectively took a deep intake of the tense air, bracing themselves for the last time they’ll hear his voice. The voice that was always so deep, so rich, and so soothing. So persuasive, convincing and so manipulative. 

Zane Ro’Meave, corrupted High Priest of the Faith of Lady Irene, with an unfaltering grin on his lips spoke in front of an audience of devoted followers for the final time in this dimension. 

“May Lady Irene bless you.” 

_Chop._


End file.
